


Chocolate Frogs

by amorae



Series: Honeydukes [2]
Category: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Chaptered, Coming Out, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Scorpius Malfoy, Post-Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, Slow Burn, alcohol mention, continuation of my firewhisky fanfic, hmmm idk what else to tag this as!, hmmmm idk what else!, more like a companion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 22:58:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9209024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorae/pseuds/amorae
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy was in love with Albus Potter from day one, but Albus Potter is thick.A slice of life fic of Scorpius falling in love with Albus, and Scorpius' subsequent agony as he attempts to reconcile his love for Albus with Albus' inability to realize what is in front of him. Scorpius navigates his sexuality, his relationship with his father, and his relationship with other characters, all while waiting for Albus to realize he loves Scorpius, too.A continuation of my Firewhisky fanfic, from Scorpius' POV instead of Albus'!





	1. Fourth Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius comes to terms with his identity and writes a letter to Mrs. Granger-Weasley.

It was difficult to skip classes at Hogwarts. Beyond the incredibly basic fact that Hogwarts was a school for magical people, the school was simply— _small_. If a student was missing from class, it was obvious to everyone in that class, from the professor to their peers. If a student planning to play hooky risked venturing out into hallways and staircases before class, and someone saw them, a greeting such as, “Did you do the homework?” became a quagmire. If a student skipped a class but still attended lunch or dinner in the Great Hall, the chances the professor in question would see them was very high—and most Hogwarts professors were not renowned for their leniency. Students were not necessarily encouraged to tattle on their peers, should their peers admit to planning to skip class, but it wasn’t _not_ encouraged, either. For the most part, however, it was generally understood amongst the students of Hogwarts: if someone was planning to skip class, well; they likely had a very good reason for it.

Scorpius slunk down the hall, attempting to press himself into shadows, ears tuned to the slightest footfall, peering around every corner before he would dart away. He had hid in the boys bathroom on the second floor until the chatter of students passing by had faded away, the sound of the inevitable student spilling the contents of their hands and bags and the consequential explosive explicatives long gone. Scorpius counted the minutes by seconds in his head, _one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand…_ , and waited until he had accomplished five repetitions of sixty; then he ventured out. He quickly found the staircase and stepped gingerly, hands clasped into fists so hard his nails dug crescents into his palm, as he hoped against hope that the staircase would not move. His prayers, hopes, were answered; the staircase remained resolute, and he stepped off it quickly, before returning to the shadows. Scorpius tried to move quickly and without sound, and appeared to mostly succeed—yet he was still incredibly relieved to throw open the doors to the library.

The soft, flickering light of the candles that floated lazily down the walkways immediately soothed Scorpius. It was always nice to find comfort in books. This had been true all his life, and was certainly true at Hogwarts, a place that had never really felt like home.

He paused, bit his lip, and looked around the library, suddenly unsure of where to go next. It was not like he could ask the librarian, or any of the librarian assistants, where to find the books he was looking for. This was far too personal an adventure, and one that if he admitted to his fellow students, he was sure would make the rounds on the Hogwarts gossip vine quickly. No: this was something he had to do on his own.

At a loss for where else to start, he found his way to the Muggle Studies shelves, where everything from wizard-penned histories of Muggles to Muggle fiction were housed. The section spanned ten shelves, books stacked to the ceiling, the shelves bursting with creased paperbacks and lazily enchanted titles flickering feebly in their old age. Here, he hit another roadblock, as he was sure no title would immediately answer his question. _A History of Muggle Sexuality_ wasn’t exactly a catchy book title. He sighed to himself and scanned the books, ultimately choosing a haphazard stack of books on romance, American culture, and one, which he was surprised to find, bluntly called _A Queer History._ He quickly charmed the stack to follow him around the library and shuffled his way to where the Muggle fiction was kept; here he scanned titles a little more easily. He had read many titles, here, and decided to choose some of his favorites—ones he had found, quite by accident, which happened to have gay characters. _Fun Home, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Universe,_ and _Angels in America_ all found their way onto his pile. By the time he was satisfied, the pile towered over his head, and he had found it necessary to charm the stack _again_ , to help it not topple over at its sheer weight. 

He found his way to a table in the back corner of the library and with a gentle tap of his wand, the books _plop_ ed onto the desk. He sat down and, with a quick glance around him, picked the book on the top of the pile. 

  


As students began to filter into the library, Scorpius figured that class had ended, signaling, for most students, the start of the evening. He had to piles in front of him: books to check out and books to return to the shelves. He picked up the books to return to the shelves—by far a smaller stack than the books he planned to sneak back into the Slytherin dormitory—and scooped them in his arms. He found their homes amongst the shelves and returned them to gather dust, until the next time they would answer a questioning Hogwarts student’s questions.

  


The rest of the books now safely in his bedside drawer and away from prying eyes, Scorpius dropped his bag on his bed and finally let himself wonder where Albus was. Scorpius had purposely chosen to skip Muggle Studies, as this was the only class he and Albus did not share. Albus had a free period and generally spent the free period in the Slytherin common room, but was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t a nice day outside, but it wasn’t a snowy or rainy day, either; it was simply cold. Scorpius grabbed a sweater and peeled his cloak off himself, careful to stick his wand in his back pocket for safekeeping.

He took the stairs away from the dungeons two at a time and let himself get lost in his thoughts as he took the familiar route out to the grounds. The books he had skimmed did help ease his mind. Although he would have to return to the library to scour the shelves for books written by wizards and for wizards on the topic of sexuality, it was soothing to read that many Muggles struggled with the very same things he was struggling with at the moment. It was not _common_ in Muggle society, but wasn’t _uncommon_ ; and, in America, there was a great push for equality and rights. Of course, this existed in Britain, too, but Americans were always louder than Brits, meaning their voices were generally given more attention. He had taken a few history books back to the dorm, but had decided to primarily lean on fiction to help him understand what was going on in his head. While the history, of course, was fascinating, it wouldn’t help him understand where he was coming from. As such: fiction. It had been a year of years since he had first stumbled upon LGBT Muggle fiction; as part of his first “book report” in first year Muggle Studies, he had chosen to read _Fun Home_ , as the “comic book” structure intrigued him. He hadn’t known what it was about when he chose it, but he was glad that he had, although it had been the catalyst of his confusion.

Scorpius wandered over to the great lake to see if Albus was lounging on the shore, but as he approached, he instead saw the faint outline of his friend by Professor Hagrid’s hut. It appeared that Albus was feeding the creatures Professor Hagrid kept in his front lawn. Scorpius grinned to himself, thinking about how truly adorable it was that Albus had taken such a liking to the creatures, and headed in that direction. 

“Oi! Potter!” Scorpius shouted as he drew closer, which caused Albus to look up. Even from the distance, Scorpius could tell his friend was beaming. He put the—was it a Kneazle?—down on the ground and began walking towards Scorpius. “Glad you could find me, I was a little worried. You weren’t at the usual spot.” 

“Er,” began Scorpius, “I had to talk to Professor Burbage, so I stayed after. Sorry, mate.”

Albus rolled his eyes. “What, didn’t get a perfect mark on your essay, and had to ask why?” He took on a mocking tone: “‘Professor Burbage, I thought my explanation of—of how Muggle watches was correct, aren’t they powered by—by…’” Albus voice faltered and a curious expression passed across his face. “...how _do_ Muggle watches work?” Scorpius laughed and shook his head at his friend and quickly changed the subject. The two walked back to Professor Hagrid’s hut and peered into the various cages that littered the space. Scorpius had always had a fascination with the Occamy, admiring the illusion of their size. Albus picked up the Kneazle he had been cuddling earlier, which quickly settled into his arms. Scorpius raised an eyebrow, which earned a sheepish shrug from Albus; “I’unno, he’s just friendly, is all,” “Oh, it’s a _he_? How do you reckon that?” “Well, you see, if you turn him upside down…” “Nope.” 

Suddenly, Scorpius found himself on his back, the only warning being the surprised exhale of breath and subsequent “ _Oof_ ,” and a blur of brown and pink. “Fang, gerrof him! I’m sorry, Scorpius, jus’ can’t control him, sometimes…” Professor Hagrid sharply yanked on Fang’s collar, which didn’t seem to bother the great beast too much, as he was still excitedly panting and wagging his tail. Scorpius sat up and shrugged, beaming up at the professor: “It’s alright, Professor Hagrid, I know Fang’s just excited to see me.”

“‘s ‘cause yeh’re one o’ the only students here who lets him slobber all over yeh…” Professor Hagrid let go of Fang’s collar as Scorpius got back on his feet. Fang bounded over to Scorpius, but this time he was prepared. He scratched behind Fang’s ears, taking note of his graying muzzle and tired eyes. Professor Hagrid, in the meantime, pulled Albus into a hug which enveloped Albus totally and wholly; he looked over at his friend with slight panic in his eyes, which caused Scorpius to stifle a laugh. “D’you wanna come in fer some tea? I made biscuits!” He let go of Albus and the pair nodded, not necessarily in excitement but in resignation. Professor Hagrid loved to share his cooking atrocities with anyone and everyone who happened to stop by his hut. When Scorpius had first joined Albus on a visit to the hut in third year (to discuss a lesson in Care of Magical Creatures, which had confused Scorpius), Albus had warned his friend in a dark mutter about the rock-hard biscuits and inedible candies as they waited on Professor Hagrid’s doorstep. Albus had not been exaggerating.

Fang followed Scorpius in a happy trot as they stepped into Professor Hagrid’s hut. Every time Scorpius entered, he felt dwarfed by the clutter; the pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, the inexplicable dragonhide that Professor Hagrid always seemed to have draped across his kitchen table, and the creatures he didn’t trust outside which tittered in corners and skittered across the floor. Scorpius and Albus found their way to the worn couch and sank into it, careful not to sit too far back, lest they never be able to get back up. Professor Hagrid bustled around the kitchen, quickly pulling the tea kettle off the stove and pouring the boys two steaming cups. He placed the cups, and a plate of “biscuits” in front of them on the coffee table (which only seemed to have three legs), before settling down in the arm chair across from them. “So, wha’ brings yeh down this way?”

“I was bored and wanted to come see this fellow,” Albus said, lifting the Kneazle in his arms as a gesture, “and Scorpius found me over here.” A flash of amusement crossed Professor Hagrid’s face as he looked from Albus, to Scorpius, back to Albus again. Professor Hagrid nodded at Albus. “Well, yeh’re always welcome here, yeh know tha’,” he said, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Tell yer sister teh stop by soon or summat, I haven’ seen her this year.” 

Albus’ body language immediately betrayed him, as it always did: he stiffened as he attempted to control the impending eye roll, and his discomfort washed over Scorpius in waves. “Lily hasn’t spoken to me in months, something about the _incident_ ”—he said this in a condescending yet self deprecating tone, making air quotes in the air around the word—”which I think embarrassed her. How difficult it must be….” Professor Hagrid looked taken aback by Albus’ outburst, which shouldn’t have amused Scorpius, but did: he supposed Albus’ volatile emotions could come as a surprise to people not intimately familiar with his friend. 

“Things bin rough fer yeh, eh?” Albus looked up from his hands in surprise and glanced at Scorpius before returning Professor Hagrid’s gaze. He nodded. “Yeah. Although Dad’s been nicer to me, I still feel like no one in the family really knows how to deal with the fact that I’m...well, me.” 

It was Scorpius’ turn to grow uncomfortable now, for myriad of reasons. Most obvious, of course, was the underlying implication of Albus’ comment—it wasn’t that Albus was different, it was that Albus was different and _Slytherin_ , something rather taboo in the Potter family. This made Scorpius feel uncomfortable and a little guilty, for two reasons: one, Scorpius was a Malfoy, coming from a long line of Slytherins, so the idea of not being sorted into Slytherin and not being _proud_ to be a Slytherin was foreign to him; and, two, he had always wondered whether it was _his_ fault that Albus had been sorted into Slytherin after all. They had met on the train and their friendship had been immediately magnetic; would Albus still have been sorted into Slytherin if he hadn’t met Scorpius? Or, if Scorpius had been sorted into, say, Ravenclaw—would Albus have followed him there? It had been a while since Scorpius had let these questions bother him, but at one point they had kept him up at night, wracked with guilt. A less obvious reason Albus’ self deprecating comment had made him so deeply uncomfortable was the fierce and powerful feeling which rose in his gut, an intense _Yeah, and who you are is perfect as it is_ sensation which startled Scorpius. He did his best to keep it from his face, and instead channeled his energy into focusing on Albus, attempting to comfort him simply by his presence.

Professor Hagrid shook his head. “I tell yeh, yer father is a great man an’ all, but he’s got some backwards opinions abou’ Slytherins. Part o’ me don’ blame ‘im, after what tha’ Malfoy—er, sorry, Scorpius—did ter ‘im, but yeh would _think_ havin’ a son in Slytherin would change his mind...but Harry’s never bin the bes’ at not holdin’ grudges…” This seemed to bring a wide, if somewhat reluctant, smile to Albus’ face, which eased Scorpius’ own discomfort. Professor Hagrid’s small monologue softened the tension in the room and, if possible, made Scorpius appreciate Professor Hagrid’s role in his life even more. He had always appreciated that a friend of the Potters was so kind to him, even if he _was_ a Slytherin. “Yer a good kid, Albus, and yeh got a good head on yer shoulders. I know he’s proud of yeh, he’s jus’ got a funny way o’ showin’ it.”

“Thanks, Hagrid,” Albus mumbled into his cup of tea. Hagrid smiled. 

  


That night, Scorpius had pulled the curtains around his four poster, and spread his books out in front of him. He held his wand between his teeth, the wand light casting dancing shadows along the emerald green curtains, and he stared. He stared and stared and stared and _stared_. An uneasy feeling rose in his stomach as he looked at the book titles; wouldn’t it just be easier to pretend none of this was happening? That he didn’t have these thoughts and feelings?

He thought of Albus, and his stomach twisted in a not so unpleasant way. He thought of the boy’s smile, of the way Albus looked at him when he clearly thought Scorpius wasn’t paying attention...a sort of confused longing, almost like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to hold Scorpius’ hand or do something more. Scorpius thought of all the times he had accidentally brushed hands with Albus, or had touched his shoulder; the times Albus had fallen asleep leaning against him while they studied, the times Albus _had actually_ grabbed Scorpius’ shoulder, particularly in Hogsmeade…. Scorpius remembered the panic he felt as he treaded water in the Great Lake, the idea of a world without Albus so incredibly bleak, so incredibly daunting, so incredibly _unlivable_ that he not only risked his life, but turned back time to get Albus back. Scorpius felt his cheeks growing red as he thought of his best friend, who was sleeping peacefully in the bed next to his, totally unaware of the inner turmoil Scorpius was currently battling. 

He groaned in exasperation with himself and with his friend. It shouldn’t have been this difficult. But, it was. 

  


Scorpius was ripped out of his sleep abruptly by the sound of his curtains being thrown back. He had fallen asleep on top of his bed sheets, the books kicked to the end of the bed and scattered haphazardly around his body. “Good morning!” Albus nearly shouted in Scorpius’ face. “Time to get breakfast! Get up, sleepyhead!”

Scorpius cracked open an eye to glower at his friend. For a moment, he forgot about the books which littered his bed, as his mind was preoccupied with a singular chant: _Goddamn it, Albus Severus Potter._ He struggled to sit upright, his hand resting on a book as he pushed himself up; only then did he remember the books, and he felt embarrassment spread across his face. But, if Albus noticed, he didn’t let on, which told Scorpius that he indeed did not notice at all. “It’s the _weekend,_ ” Scorpius said in exasperation as he climbed out of the bed. He casually pulled the curtains back so as to conceal his bed and the books which remained, title-up for anyone to see, should they give in to their desire to snoop. 

“You’ve been asleep for ages, mate,” Albus said as Scorpius struggled into a sweater. He considered changing his clothes completely, but decided against it, choosing instead to continue down to the Great Hall in his pajamas. “It’s nearly noon, I thought you’d want to grab some breakfast.” 

“Really? It’s nearly noon?” Scorpius was taken aback; he rarely, if ever, slept this late. He wondered if the shear stress of his thoughts last night had compelled him to sleep endlessly. Scorpius put on his slippers and the two quickly found their way to the Common Room and then out, ascending the stairs to the first floor side by side. By the time they got to the Great Hall, it was mostly empty, with only a singular serving plate on each table holding food. Albus sat down, roughly, and Scorpius took his usual seat next to him. Scorpius glanced up at the head table to see Professor Burbage glaring at him; Scorpius quickly averted his gaze and focused on piling breakfast sausages onto his plate. 

Through a thick mouthful of waffles, Albus turned to Scorpius and said, “We shoul’ sduddy today, final”—he took a minute to swallow his food—”exams are coming up.” Scorpius nodded; indeed, the final exams of their fourth year were only a handful of weeks away. Then, it would be back to Malfoy Manor for the summer, unless he could somehow convince his father— _and_ if Albus could somehow convince _his_ father—to let the boys visit, which seemed unlikely. Scorpius had never been particularly fond of Hogwarts, but the promise of getting to spend time with his best friend was always enticing enough to make Hogwarts just a little more bearable. 

The two quickly tucked into their breakfasts and chatted about which classes they each needed to study for the most. The threat of their O.W.L. year being just a year away was enough that it dwarfed most of the stress of fourth year finals; while both boys found themselves panicked about their respective classes, it was nothing in comparison to the dread they felt at the thought of the next year. Once they had cleared their plates and had decided on which classes to study for that day (Potions, Transfiguration, and Care of Magical Creatures), they instead began to bicker about _where_ to study. Ultimately they settled on studying out by the Great Lake. Arms laden with textbooks and parchment nearly falling from the top of the stack, they walked across the Great Lawn and found a comfortable seat underneath a willow tree. Books stacked in front of them, Albus grabbed his Potions textbook, laid down on the soft grass and placed his head in Scorpius, lap, cracked open the book, and peered up at his friend: “Alright, which potion d’you wanna go over first?” 

Scorpius’ heart leapt into his throat. 

  


By all accounts, he could not believe he was doing this.

Albus had left the Common Room, yawning dramatically and dropping hints left and right that he wanted Scorpius to follow him up to the dormitory; but Scorpius needed some time alone. He fibbed to Albus, holding up his copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_ and said with an exaggerated grimace that he had to read the book to prepare an essay on it by Tuesday. Albus had shrugged, muttered something like “Suit yourself, giant nerd,” and left for the comfort of his bed. 

Scorpius returned the book back to his bag (while it was true, he did have an essay on the book due on Tuesday, he had already written and handed it in) and pulled out a roll of parchment. He flattened it on the table in front of him and stared at its blankness, wishing that he could pour his thoughts onto the page with no effort. However, that wasn’t how it worked. He picked up his quill and in careful strokes, he began the letter. 

_Dear Minister of Magic, Mrs. Granger-Weasley,  
I know you do not know me and have no reason to take this letter seriously. You’d be quite right to chuck this in the bin. However—considering the respect my friend Albus Potter has for you, and the kindness he says you show him, and the way in which you have always remained his ally—I felt compelled to write to you on this subject._

Scorpius felt pained writing so formally, but he was, after all, not just writing a letter to the Minister of Magic; he was writing a letter to his best friend’s aunt. 

_I am currently a student of Muggle Studies and am considering taking my N.E.W.T. studies in the direction of examining the Muggle LGBT community of Great Britain. While texts on the subject are in the Great Library, they are sparse; I have found myself doubting the words written and instead turning to Muggle literature to glean more about the truth behind it. There isn’t very much, and it isn’t clear whether such a community exists in the Wizarding community, which, admittedly, baffles me the slightest.  
If you have the time, I would greatly appreciate if you could answer a few questions of mine; also, if you have book recommendations, if you could give me a list. I have found that I care rather a lot about this subject, and I find myself very passionate. I know it is somewhat early to begin worrying about N.E.W.T. level studies, but my curiosity is piqued and I am of the philosophy that it is better to be over-prepared than underprepared._

He chewed on the edge of his quill, thankful that Albus had shared the dozens of packages of Sugar Quills his Uncle Ron had sent him at the start of the year. He looked over what he had written thus far; it was true that he was planning to take his N.E.W.T. studies in this direction, but he wondered if he was being a little too transparent in the real underlying reason he was choosing to take his studies in this direction. Rather than continue digging himself deeper into the hole, he decided it was appropriate to begin asking his questions. 

_Most pressing, perhaps, is my question: is there an Wizarding LGBT community? Does it parallel the Muggle community? Or do LGBT witches and wizards simply assimilate into the LGBT community? (I assume the Muggle LGBT community would, very likely, be more open to the idea of magical people than the general Muggle populace, if only due to the years of stigma stacked against either community.)_  
_What kind of protections exist for LGBT witches and wizards? I figure it is naive to assume there are no LGBT witches and wizards, but are the numbers small enough that protections do not exist?  
_ _What kind of protections exist for LGBT Muggles in Great Britain? Most of the texts available are related to Americans, which certainly gives a glimpse into how Great Britain must handle the topic, but does not directly answer the question._

His final question caused him to pause for a moment, to consider whether it was too personal; but he figured he had nothing to lose, considering, more likely than not, Mrs. Granger-Weasley would take one look at the signature and toss the letter. 

_Finally, have you known anyone who identifies as LGBT, either a Muggle or magical person?_  
_Thank you for taking the time to read this letter; I greatly appreciate all that you have done not just for the magical community, but for my dear friend._  
_Have a lovely day,_  
_Sincerely,  
_ _Scorpius Malfoy._

Scorpius rolled the parchment without rereading the letter, tied it, and gently clasped it in his fist. He reckoned the time was close to midnight, meaning it was nearly curfew. If he wanted to send this off, he had to do it quickly. He scrawled a quick _To the Minister of Magic, Mrs. Hermione Granger-Weasley_ and hurried out of the Common Room and up to the Owlry. Once there, he called his owl and whispered to her to take it to the Ministry. If an owl could look surprised, he was sure that was the facial expression that crossed her face as he tied the letter to her leg. Scorpius ignored the implication as he lifted her out the window and hurried back to the Slytherin dorms before he could be caught out of bed. 

  


Hogwarts students clamored onto the train, ready to begin their summer vacation. Everyone except Scorpius and Albus; they had found a compartment all to themselves and quickly pulled the curtain for privacy. They sat across from each other, not having bothered to put their trunks on the top shelves, wrapped in cloaks and sporting green and silver ties. They shared their plans for the summer, which mainly consisted of “avoid their families,” “read,” and “write one another.” Lily had seen Albus as he boarded the train and quickly ducked into a compartment with her friends, which had caused Albus to deflate the slightest bit, and Scorpius to grow fiercely protective. Rose had waved to both boys, having been determined since “The Incident” to be kinder to the Slytherins in general, and Albus had nudged Scorpius hard in the ribs. Up until that point, Scorpius had forgotten he had nursed a “crush” on Rose—or, at the very least, had claimed to, in the wake of Albus’ crush on Delphi.

Finals had come and gone and were by and large easy for Scorpius; the real struggle had been waiting for Mrs. Granger-Weasley’s return letter. She had returned his owl a week later, sans any message, which ultimately did not surprise Scorpius, although it did disappoint him. Scorpius had decided to cut his loss, figured no harm was done, and instead focused on studying the topic on his own. 

When the Trolley Witch came by, she smiled thinly at the boys, and as if to make amends they bought two of everything, and bought ten Chocolate Frogs. They quickly tore open the Chocolate Frogs and traded their cards; Scorpius found great irony in the fact that he had received two Hermione Granger-Weasley cards, and Albus had moaned, “ _Not another!_ ” as he gesticulated at yet another Albus Dumbledore card. Back in the Slytherin dorm, he had a small section of the wall by his bed wallpapered with all of the Albus Dumbledore cards he had acquired over the years. 

They stuffed their faces with cauldron cakes and pumpkin pasties, and Albus mused whether they should bring some of their sweets to Lily and Rose. He ultimately decided against it, saying, with a mouthful of chocolate, that they could go stuff themselves instead. Scorpius couldn’t help but laugh, and he found himself growing more and more enamored with the boy with messy black hair that sat across from him. He thought to himself that he would rather like to kiss the Potter boy, if not on the lips, than on the forehead, or cheek, or nose; he would even settle for his hand at this point. But, rather than lean forward and engage in the small show of affection, Scorpius smiled warmly and considered the lovely ways in which Albus’ green eyes sparkled when they caught his.


	2. Summer/Fifth Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius comes out to his father and enters a relationship with a Ravenclaw boy.

“Scorp? There’s a package here for you.” His father’s voice rang from the stairway and echoed down the empty halls of the Manor. Scorpius stepped out of his room, where he had been reading a Muggle novel (about fairy tales coming to life; he liked it a lot, and was very interested in the ways in which Muggle fairy tales and wizard fairy tales seemed to overlap and diverge at truly fascinating places). He ran down the stairs and slid across the stone floor in his socks, following the sounds of his father’s footprints. He found his father in his study and was immediately taken aback by the _size_ of the package which sat on his father’s desk.

It was _huge_ and bound in cream-colored parchment. His father looked at him somewhat curiously as he said, slowly, “The letter has a Ministry seal on it.

Scorpius’ stomach fell as his heart leapt into his throat, and the rush of adrenaline was enough that he immediately became dizzy. “Oh,” he said, moving towards the package. His dad raised an eyebrow at his son as his son lifted the package off the desk and immediately stumbled under its weight. “Who from the Ministry is writing to you? Who would send you this package?” 

“Er,” Scorpius said eloquently. “I wrote the head of the Muggle Liaison Office a few weeks ago, asking for—for some books about, uh, the Muggle history of Great Britain.” He thought quickly. “I’m considering doing my N.E.W.T. level studies on the history of Great Britain, examining the, uh, parallels between, er, Wizarding history and Muggle history. It’s really a fascinating subject, father, especially when you think about—” His father held up a hand. “I believe you, it’s okay.” With that, his father smiled and left the room in a meandering sort of way. Scorpius exhaled. 

He thought to himself somewhat bitterly that he wished he could charm the package to follow him up the staircase as he struggled to breathe while carrying the package. He wondered what on earth could possibly be in the package that would make it so heavy and so large. He was grateful when he made it to his room and he dropped the package onto his bed, causing the bed to sink and groan under the stress. He sat down next to it and gingerly untied the letter, trying, unsuccessfully, not to hold his breath while he unrolled the parchment. 

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_  
_Thank you for your letter. I appreciate your kind words with regards to my relationship with Albus; personally I’ve always found your relationship with him to be rather endearing and have encouraged Albus’ father to remove the proverbial stick from his ass with regards to your friendship, and Slytherins in general. You are not your father, after all._  
_I must say I was pleased to see that you are thinking so far ahead in your education. You are one of the top students of your year and if it had not been for the adventure you and Albus had gone on at the beginning of your fourth year, I believe you would have made Prefect. Alas, that did not happen...I doubt you would have liked being a Prefect, anyway...a lot of responsibility and very little to gain from it. I digress._  
_I hope the package I have included did not overwhelm you, and I apologize for the delay in my response. I wanted to ensure I was giving you factual and accurate information and felt that the best way to do this was to ensure I, too, was adequately trained in the history. These are the books I had purchased for myself in order to better understand your questions. Most, I found in Flourish and Blotts, simply by perusing the shelves over the years, but a few were recommended to me by friends._  
_To answer the question that seems to be at the forefront of your mind: yes, there are gay witches and wizards, and yes, I have known many personally. Two boys whom I had been close to during my time at Hogwarts married each other shortly after the War ended, in fact. You are not alone._  
_Of course there are protections guaranteed by the Ministry for LGBT witches and wizards. Although, at this time, Great Britain does not recognize the legality of Muggle gay marriages, the wizarding community has recognized such marriages and relationships since the early 1900’s. I have been attempting to bring a historian of this subject into the Ministry since I entered office, preferably within the Muggle Liaison Office._

The letter continued on for a while, much to Scorpius’ surprise. He was shocked by the warmth with which Mrs. Granger-Weasley wrote to him, and the genuine interest in the topic that she clearly had. It brought him great comfort as he sank back into his bed and read her notes on LGBT history both in the wizarding and Muggle world. At the end of the letter, she gave a list of the books she had sent to him, as well as a list for further reading, should he be interested in attending a Muggle library to learn more. She also welcomed him to the Ministry to peruse _their_ library, should he need to examine more books. 

_Again, thank you for your letter, Mr. Malfoy. It is always nice to hear from young minds._  
_Take care, and happy reading,_  
_With great sincerity,  
_Mrs. Hermione Granger-Weasley__

Scorpius glanced at the parcel next to him, back down at the letter, and back to the package, before bursting into tears.

  


Scorpius spent the remainder of the summer reading voraciously, to the point that he sometimes very nearly forgot to write Albus his daily letter. Every day each boy would write to the other, talking about the silly things they had done. Albus’ letters were alway so much more interesting as his Dad dragged him to the Ministry, his Mom took him to Quidditch matches, and occasionally his uncles would demand his attention with dragons or magic tricks or impromptu trips to Egypt. In comparison, Scorpius spent most of his time avoiding his father, and his father also spent time avoiding his son. Although, occasionally, his father would call Scorpius down to his study and would press Scorpius for details about his week, about his favorite subjects, about his friendship with Albus. His father seemed to have grown more accepting of his friendship with Albus, which was, generally, a relief to Scorpius; it had been exhausting to hear the name “Potter” spoken with such venom for so long, when Scorpius loved a person with the name. He would tell his father about how Albus helped him in Potions, and how he helped Albus in Transfiguration and Charms; how both boys were “just okay” at Defense Against the Dark Arts (which seemed to cause both of their fathers some level of internal agony, which encouraged both boys to continue remaining apathetic towards the subject, despite their deep intuitive understanding of it). After nearly five years of friendship, his father, finally, seemed to grudgingly accept it: the Potters were simply going to be part of his life.

As Scorpius read and read and read, he found himself wondering how his mother would have reacted to his interest in Muggles. Would he have felt comfortable telling his mother about his questioning—about the fact that he was pretty sure he was gay? 

He wasn’t sure when it finally settled in the pit of his stomach, that he _was_ , indeed, gay, but one day he realized that it was simply a fact. He realized that he had tried to suppress it over the years with bogus claims of crushes on girls, but his reality was that he had been enamored with Albus Severus Potter since the first time he saw the boy on the train all those years ago. This revelation had caused his interest in LGBT studies to level out the slightest bit, making him less frenzied in his desire to know everything he could about the subject.

Despite what Mrs. Granger-Weasley had said, however, he still found himself incredibly anxious when he thought about the idea of “coming out.” It seemed like such an intimate, personal thing that society demanded of gay people—that they tell the world not only were they going against the norm, but that they loved. Of course, everyone loves somebody, but few people have to publicly declare that not only do they love, but their love is valid. He found himself growing desperate to come out at the same time that he found himself desperate to remain in the closet for the rest of his life.

Scorpius found himself grappling with whether he could possibly ever believe Albus could ever admit to loving Scorpius back. When Scorpius sat down and examined his memories with Albus, he knew, undeniably, that _something_ was there between them. It wasn’t a question of whether Albus was gay, or even whether he loved Scorpius; it was a question of whether Albus would be able to admit these things to himself in such a way that he would be able to act upon them. Scorpius loved him, but there was no denying that his best friend was, by all accounts, utterly thick.

And how would his father react? Scorpius knew that this was a real wild card. Since his mother’s death, his father had grown softer and kinder. Scorpius was well aware of the reputation that his father had, of his father’s role in the War, of his grandmother and grandfather’s role in Voldemort’s rise to power the first _and_ second times. He knew his father had been trying his entire life to distance himself from the reality of his past, and that the kindness of his mother had helped pull his father away from the hatred that had consumed him when he was a student at Hogwarts himself. All of that said, his father was still not the most tolerant person, and it was a coin toss as to how he would react to the idea that his son was gay. 

Nearly a week went by as Scorpius struggled to decide whether to come out to his father. He was losing sleep, spending nights staring up at his ceiling and running over scenarios in his head. When he and his father sat down for meals together, his father could tell something was wrong. After four nights, his father asked: “Has Albus written you recently?”

“What?” Scorpius was taken aback by the question; “Yes, I got a letter from him about an hour ago, I haven’t read it though. Why?” His father shook his head and smiled a tiny bit. “You seem sad and distracted.” Scorpius pushed his food around on his plate a little and winced at the sound of the family house elf accidentally knocking over a lamp; there was no shattering sound, but he heard the house elf swear, and Scorpius found himself thankful that Mrs. Granger-Weasley had set up laws intended to protect house elves and help them earn a living wage and earn retirement. He would be happy when it was time for the family house elf to retire, and had already picked out the hat he was going to give when it was time. 

Two more sleepless nights passed Scorpius by before he found himself shuffling zombie-like to his father’s study. “Father? I have to talk to you.” 

His father looked up at him over the edge of his glasses and steepled his fingers. “What is it, Scorp?” Scorpius took a deep breath. “I’m gay.” A beat; “I just wanted to tell you.” 

Much to Scorpius’ surprise, his father’s face spread into a wide smile. “Really? Well—congratulations on coming out! I would say ‘congratulations’ on being gay, but seeing as it isn’t exactly something you chose to accomplish….” He stood up, bridged the gap between the two of them, and wrapped his son in a tight hug. “Your mother is proud of you right know, you know.”

Scorpius couldn’t help but splutter in shock. “You’re—you’re not—mad?” His father pulled away, frowning; “No, why on earth would I be mad?” Scorpius shook his head, opening and closing his mouth. “I just—I guess I thought—” 

His father stepped away from the hug and waved his hand at his son. “Your mother was a champion of gay rights, particularly in the Muggle community. She fought vehemently for Muggle LGBT rights, as her best friend growing up was a gay woman. When you were very young, in fact, you were a part of the marriage ceremony, when you were about four years old. I think you were the flower boy. There’s a picture somewhere in the library.” His father sat back down at his desk and continued to smile at Scorpius. “When did you figure it out? Does—does Albus know?” 

_Is it really that obvious?_ Scorpius thought to himself, somewhat miserably, as he shook his head. “No, he doesn’t know. And, uh, I only really realized it this summer? I guess I started wondering during the school year….” 

“Well—know that I am proud of you. And your mother is, too.”

  


Fifth year began in a blaze of assignments and academic stress. By the time Halloween rolled around, the entire Slytherin Fifth year class was bleary eyed and exhausted, and regularly, Scorpius found himself waking up his peers. In the Common Room, slouched deeply into an armchair; in the Great Hall, their cheek resting in plum pudding; next to him in History of Magic, snoring loudly; and, occasionally, even in the hallways, their legs crossed and a textbook in front of them, clearly having been waiting for their class to begin and taking the opportunity of silence in the hallway to study. Scorpius and Albus were not immune, either—one night Albus decided it was too much work to climb the staircase to their dorm, and instead fell asleep in front of the fire to keep warm. Scorpius had stayed up that entire night drafting a chart for Astronomy, and once finished with that, began an essay about the uses of garlic in anti vampirism charms and potions of health, and the history of garlic as it relates to Magical entities, for their Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

Albus awoke shortly after the sun rose and light began to filter through the murky water of the Great Lake. He yawned, cracked his neck, and sat across from Scorpius, who had not paused to stop writing to greet his friend, and instead muttered a short “lo.” He was so close to finishing the essay, and then he could sleep...maybe he would skip class, just take a nap...the dream quickly vanished from his mind when he remembered they had a practical in Care of Magical Creatures that day. Why anyone would assign a practical on Halloween was beyond Scorpius.

Albus peered over the parchment. “Common uses...of… _garlic_?—in the Defense Against the Dark Arts. Okay, what? Blimey, mate, you are a _nerd._ ” 

Scorpius looked up from his parchment; “Says the person who brews potions for fun.”

“Oi! That’s practicing!” Albus defended himself. “Sure, sure it is,” Scorpius replied, returning to his essay. He quickly scribbled his conclusion, threw down the quill, and rolled the parchment up. “Alright, I’m done. Should we head to breakfast? We can drill each other on Care of Magical Creatures while we eat.” Albus shrugged, which Scorpius took as resignation, and the boys head down to the Great Hall in the clothes they had been wearing the day before, having far surpassed a time when they cared about personal hygiene. 

The day passed in a haze for Scorpius as he snuck back to the Great Hall in between classes to alternate cups of coffee and cups of earl grey; but no matter how much caffeine he drank, it simply wasn’t enough to remove the fog that enveloped him. During the Care of Magical Creatures practical, the Blast-Ended Skrewts nearly obliterated him, and would have if Albus hadn’t been thinking on his feet. Professor Hagrid looked curiously at Scorpius but continued his rounds without stopping to check to see if both boys were okay. By the end of the day, Scorpius was so tired he no longer felt tired; instead his body felt flat, as if he had been compressed into two dimensions. He could hardly appreciate the beauty of the Great Hall and rest of the castle when they entered for dinner. 

“D’you have any interest in going to the dance tonight?” Albus asked between mouthfuls of food. Scorpius shook his head. “Honestly, mate, I’d rather hang out with you and call it an early night.” It was only after Albus’ face turned red that Scorpius realized what he had said; _fuck it,_ he thought to himself, and grinned lopsidedly at his shepherd's pie. 

  


Christmas was fast approaching, and all Scorpius could think was how desperately he wanted to kiss Albus under the mistletoe. There was plenty littered around the castle, after all, but there always seemed to be a squealing pair of students backing away in just enough time that it warned the pair. Once, Scorpius had passed underneath one, and Albus had almost followed, when a fellow Fifth year Slytherin shouted, “Watch out!” Albus quickly stepped away, laughing in a way that Scorpius thought was rather nervous. “That was close!” Albus had said, and Scorpius fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Scorpius wondered what Albus would do if he just...reached out and kissed the boy. Really, what was the worst that could happen? It was obvious to Scorpius that Albus felt the same way, _painfully_ obvious to Scorpius, but he was positive that Albus would sooner die than admit his feelings. Sometimes, this amused Scorpius, but on other days, it infuriated him. Unable to handle the extra energy he had coursing through him, he took his broom down to the Quidditch pitch and found a handful of practice snitches; he threw them in varied directions and took off, admiring the way the cold air sliced through his thoughts.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if, someday, Albus sat in the stands, cheering Scorpius on?

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if, after a particularly gruelling game, where Scorpius just managed to secure the snitch, he was able to touch down, grab Albus around the waist, and kiss him in victory?

Scorpius nearly fell off his broom as he grabbed the first snitch. One down, four to go, he thought to himself as he squinted, looking for the familiar flash of gold. His heart was pounding, but whether due to his thoughts about Albus or due to the physical activity, he was no longer sure, which soothed him. He did laps around the pitch, secured the second snitch; contemplated what Albus’ lips tasted like.

He had hardly told Albus where he was going. After yet another instance of the two very nearly passing under a mistletoe together and Albus stepping away at the very last moment while laughing weakly, something in Scorpius had snapped. They had been entering the Common Room to study, and Scorpius abruptly changed his mind; he told Albus that he was going to the Quidditch pitch to practice, Albus had nodded—seeming somewhat surprised, but mostly disinterested—and that was that. 

If Scorpius was being honest with himself, there was a part of him that bitterly enjoyed the misery he felt when contemplating kissing his best friend. He felt like he deserved the sadness, the unease, the insecurity that followed such “What If” thoughts; _serves me right, having fallen in love with my best friend,_ he thought to himself as he caught the fourth snitch and tumbled off his broom. Three somersaults and some mild vertigo later, he hopped back on his broom to chase down the last snitch, so that he could return to studying with his best friend. 

What would it feel like to hold Albus’ head in his hands as they gently worked their lips together? What would it feel like to touch Albus’ arms, his chest, his—his legs, his _thighs_ , his….

Scorpius caught the last snitch and reached the ground in a jog, running back to the padlock where the spare Quidditch materials were kept. Once finished, he slung his broom over his shoulder and found his way back to the Slytherin dungeons, unsure what exactly it was that he felt in the pit of his stomach.

  


Quickly, he began to avoid mistletoe just as vehemently as Albus was, if only to avoid the awkward and panicked laugh that always overtook Albus. All over the castle, students were being caught unaware, and would either giggle and kiss each other briefly, or, on occasion, would begin to deeply snog one another. This tended to always result in a professor breaking them up, a look of half amusement and half annoyance coloring their features. Professor Cho happened to break up one particularly passionate couple right before the Slytherin lesson by casually threatening to send both students to the hospital wing to test for potential love potion poisoning.

A week before students were set to return home for the holiday, Scorpius found himself running late for Muggle Studies. He hated to be late; it caused him great stress and he generally did all he could to avoid it. On this particular day, however, he had, admittedly, been busy staring at his best friend, who was so wrapped up in his Potions textbook that he did not notice. Scorpius had been admiring his nose that day. Scorpius took a short cut he had found during third year in the hopes that he would manage to make it on class on time. 

He was surprised to find Rose and a sixth year Ravenclaw passionately snogging. For a split second, Scorpius had the urge to shout, “ _Really!_ ” at Rose, although Scorpius was unsure whether it had to do with his past crush on the girl, or if it had more to do with the idea that even Rose was kissing someone. Instead, Scorpius rushed away and back to the Slytherin dorms, figuring that he could miss another Muggle Studies class due to his never-ending infatuation with Albus; the professor, surely, would understand, if only he knew. 

  


“What happened, mate?” Albus asked with a slight tone of incredulity. Scorpius didn’t blame him—he had, after all, found his friend in a deep state of pouting. Scorpius had returned to the dorm, sat on the edge of his bed, and pondered whether it was the fact that Rose was kissing someone, or whether it was the fact that _Rose_ was kissing someone, that had upset him so much. He had come to the conclusion that it was a little bit of both: he had taken solace in the idea that he could always default to his crush on Rose, should he ever become too obvious in his pining for Albus, but it was somewhat distressing that everyone seemed to be kissing someone, except for Scorpius. “Some fourth years told me that you barged into the common room and angrily stormed up here.”

“It’s nothing. I’m just being stupid, is all.” Scorpius could not look up at his friend, could not admit that he was in distress. Albus gestured to his friend; “Clearly, it’s _something_ , otherwise you wouldn’t be in such a state.” He sat down on his bed and looked curiously at Scorpius; Scorpius sighed heavily, resigning himself to the fact that his best friend just cared too damn much to accept an “It’s Nothing” answer when he was right, it so clearly wasn’t nothing, and looked up at his friend before quickly averting his eyes once again. “I saw Rose and a sixth year Ravenclaw snogging, that’s all.” 

Before it really registered to Scorpius, Albus was sitting next to him. He asked follow up questions: Did she notice? Are you okay? Scorpius answered each with verbal and literal shrugs, before admitting something to himself: of course a member of the Potter/Weasley tribe “would never fall for a Slytherin.” Albus responded by taking Scorpius hand in his own, which surprised Scorpius enough that he, instead, pulled his best friend into a tight hug. 

“Thanks for being here, mate,” Scorpius mumbled into Albus’ shoulder. Albus pulled away briefly, locking eyes with his friend: “Rose doesn’t know what she’s missing. She’s a troll for not liking you back, you know. Anyone—anyone would be lucky to snog you.” Albus ears turned red as he realized what he had said, but it did have the desired effect: Scorpius laughed, partially at the joke and partially at the _absurdity_ of the statement, especially, considering, that he was also upset because he wanted to be kissing Albus. He looked at his friend’s lips, again wondering how soft they must be, before quickly averting his gaze. 

  


Just a day before the train was to leave for King’s Cross, Scorpius and Albus headed to Herbology with a Ravenclaw Fifth year, one of the only people in the entire castle who could seem to stomach their company. (Slytherins were growing more fond of their presence, as is normal after years of existing in the same spaces as one another, but it wasn’t like Albus and Scorpius could call many people _friends._ ) Albus walked slightly ahead of Scorpius and Lachlan, mostly listening while Scorpius and Lachlan chatted about the impending O.W.L.s exam. Albus turned his head to respond to a statement Lachlan had made, when he paused and dramatically pointed to the ceiling. “You guys are under the mistletoe!”

Lachlan looked at Scorpius and grinned; Albus laughed and said, “You guys have to kiss! It’s the rule!” Lachlan shrugged and turned to Scorpius, but Scorpius shook his head wildly: “Nope. Not doing it.” He stormed forward, pushing open the doors to the Grounds, and left Lachlan and Albus gaping in his wake. 

All throughout Herbology, Scorpius’ head spun, trying to make sense of his somewhat violent reaction to the idea of kissing Lachlan. He came to the conclusion that it was due to the idea that he wanted to kiss _Albus_ , not Lachlan, which was stupid. As Herbology came to a close, Scorpius shooed Albus along—”I know you’ve got Arithmancy, and that it’s on the fifth floor, so go, you don’t want to be late, I’ll pack up”—and, once Albus was gone, asked Lachlan to stay. Professor Longbottom left the greenhouse, carrying armfuls of potted plants, trailed by a handful of students who generally helped him clean up the greenhouse.

Scorpius tilted his head slightly at Lachlan before grabbing the boy by the lapels of his cloak, and crashed their lips together.

It wasn’t really what Scorpius thought it would be like, which he supposed was more due to inexperience and the fact that it wasn’t Albus he was kissing, than anything to do with Lachlan. If he was honest, the kiss was pretty nice. Lachlan had made a quiet noise of surprise before sinking into the kiss himself, grabbing the back of Scorpius’s neck and running his fingers through his hair. Scorpius found himself overwhelmed by sensation and feeling, a sort of, _finally, at least I’m kissing_ someone, type of emotion, and he found himself half-pushing, half- _throwing_ poor Lachlan into the side of the greenhouse. Lachlan, to his credit, seemed to enjoy it, as he deepened the kiss and groaned into Scorpius’ mouth. 

After a few moments of kissing and Lachlan’s exploring hands, Scorpius pulled away; “Gimme a minute,” he muttered, pulling his wand out of his cloak and turning towards the door. “Alohomora” he muttered and then turned back to Lachlan with the slightest quirk to his lips. They resumed snogging and Scorpius let his brain shut off, finally, after months of agonizing: if nothing else, it was relieving to know, definitively, that his suspicions of his sexuality were true. His body’s reaction to the kiss was evidence of this. He ran his hands under Lachlan’s sweater and ghosted his fingertips across the boy’s stomach, his ribcage, up his chest, admiring the way Lachlan sighed into his mouth in satisfaction. As Scorpius was preparing to pull Lachlan’s sweater off, however, they heard the faint click of the lock being undone and sprang apart. 

Professor Longbottom stood in the doorway, an amused grin high on his face. Scorpius looked at Lachlan, at his messy hair and red cheeks, at his crumpled sweater, loose tie, and cloak discarded at his feet, and knew that even the most oblivious human being would know what was just happening. 

“Well,” Professor Longbottom said, unable to keep amusement from coloring his voice; “Let’s just pretend that I didn’t walk in on what I just walked in on, shall we? I’d hate to dock points from either of your houses. How about, when term starts back up after the holidays, both of you boys help me clean up after class for a week?” He paused. “Of course, it’ll have to be separately. Wouldn’t want you two getting distracted. Some of these plants are dangerous, y’know.”


	3. Fifth Year/Summer/Sixth Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus comes out, Albus admits he loves Scorpius, they live happily ever after.

Scorpius was not proud of it, but when term resumed, he had begun a quiet relationship with Lachlan. About a month after classes began again, while Albus was in Arithmancy and after they had satisfied their pseudo-detention with Professor Longbottom, the two found a table in the back of the library to sit and talk about what had transpired. Yes, Scorpius was gay; Lachlan was bisexual. Did Scorpius like-like Lachlan? Not particularly, although there was no denying the other boy was attractive; thankfully, it was mutual. Did they want to continue the relationship, in a sort of friends-with-benefits way? Sure, why not? Both boys laughed and then paused; Lachlan asked in as casual voice as he could muster whether Scorpius felt like taking a stroll past the Room of Requirement, to which Scorpius heartily agreed.

They took it a step farther, once in the relative safety of the Room of Requirement, having taken off their shirts. Lachlan pressed hickeys into Scorpius’ chest and neck, which caused Scorpius to gasp and his body to tingle. He grabbed Lachlan’s face and _kissed_ him, as deep and as hard as he could, pulling the other boy down on top of him while he did so. Time lost meaning as Scorpius lost himself to the sensations happening to him, as Lachlan’s hand found its way south, the callus from where his wand rested against his palm the only truly rough part about the experience. When all was said and done, Scorpius muttered a hasty “Scourgify” before realizing that at least an hour must have passed.

“Shit,” he said, simply, as he re-buckled his belt and pulled his sweater over his head: “Albus’ll be out of class soon, and he’ll be pissed if I don’t meet him…” 

Lachlan looked at Scorpius, curiosity mingled with sadness and amusement. “‘re in love with Albus?” 

Scorpius paused and glanced at Lachlan, before returning to fixing his tie. He pulled his cloak on, smoothed his hair as best he could without a mirror, and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I am.” 

Lachlan smiled. “You’ll make a cute couple.”

“I think so, too.”

  


He skidded to a halt at their meeting spot in just enough time to hear the chatter of students coming down the hall. Albus appeared quickly and beamed when he saw his friend. “Alright, Scorp?” he asked, beginning to look concerned as he drew closer.

“Yeah,” Scorpius said, trying to keep his tone level. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Albus appraised his friend briefly before shrugging—”You just look a little disheveled, is all.” Scorpius blushed violently, but Albus, ever oblivious, did not notice.

  


By the summer holidays, he and Lachlan had ended their fling. It wasn’t Scorpius’ choice: it was Lachlan’s. “Look, mate,” Lachlan said one day, pulling his pants back on with his back to Scorpius. “I’m fine with a fling, but I don’t want to be someone’s obvious second choice. It’s been fun, and I still want to be friends.”

“Oh,” Scorpius had said, somewhat dumbly, still under the blanket. “Alright.” 

“Cheers,” Lachlan said as he left the room, leaving Scorpius alone.

This was on Scorpius’ mind as the train pulled into King’s Cross. Albus turned to his best friend, a somewhat panicked look on his face. “We’ll see each other this summer, right?” Scorpius nodded and took his best friend’s hands, somewhat absentmindedly. “Yes, of course. I’ve already written my father, he agreed to let me come visit for a month. Right now we’ve only got to work out how I’ll be arriving.” 

Albus beamed and Scorpius let go of his hands in order to retrieve his trunk. The two squished themselves into the crowded corridor and shuffled their way off the train and to their families. As they approached the junction in which they had to go separate ways (it wasn’t as if his father was going to stand closely to the Potter/Weasley family, after all), Albus wrapped Scorpius into a tight hug. A hug that, Scorpius felt, lasted a moment too long for it to be purely platonic. They pulled away, shared “See you soon!’s” and found their respective families. When Scorpius approached his father, he couldn’t help but notice the slight quirk of a smile on his lips. 

“You really like the Potter boy, don’t you,” he said plainly. 

Scorpius nodded; “Yeah, I do.”

  


Scorpius spent the weeks leading up to his vacation with Albus reading young adult Muggle fiction. The books were easy to wade through and were really quite enjoyable. Rather than lock himself in his bedroom, as he had the previous summer, he lounged around the Manor, picking new rooms to sit and read in every day. Sometimes the sheer size of the Manor overwhelmed him and he would choose to sit in his father’s study. They would sit in relative silence, which was still a comfort to Scorpius. For all of his fear the previous summer, that coming out would weaken the already tense relationship he had with his father, it seemed to have done the opposite; it seemed to have strengthened it.

The small attempts his father made to understand Scorpius’ new world were, by all accounts, incredibly endearing to Scorpius. Occasionally his father would put down the book or newspaper he was reading while Scorpius leafed through Muggle literature and would ask small, basic questions about Albus—like his favorite color, his relationship with Mr. Potter, what his siblings were like, his favorite subject, his _best_ subject, what he wanted to do when he graduated Hogwarts. To the last question, Scorpius gave a mildly bewildered shrug—”I have no idea, we’ve never talked about it!”—which earned a dissatisfied grunt from the older Malfoy. 

The day approached quickly, with Scorpius writing notes to Albus about how excited he was to see him. They kept up the tradition of writing each other every day, despite the fact that they had plans to spend an entire month together. They made plans for what they would do, where they would visit, what movies they would see, and everything in between. It was a comfort to Scorpius and something that grounded him, and he was sure that Albus felt the same way. 

Scorpius fidgeted by the fireplace, hopping from foot to foot while tapping his fingers against his thigh. He had a small-ish trunk with him, already by his side. At this point, he was only waiting for his father, who seemed to be _trying_ to go as slowly as possible. His father nearly sauntered back into the room, not even holding anything in his hands so as to provide an excuse for how slowly he was moving. “Ready to go, then?” 

“ _Yes._ ” Scorpius had to stop himself from groaning audibly in frustration and instead focused on his father giving him quick instructions on how to use the Floo Network—”Yes, father, I know, I’ve done this before”—before he was finally granted a small pinch of Floo Powder. He stepped into the fireplace, threw the powder to the ground, and while the emerald flames engulfed him, shouted: “To Albus Potter’s house!” 

  


He had been at the house for about a week and had been settling in comfortably. Lily, for how much she had seemed to despise him at Hogwarts, was at least marginally kinder. She was willing to be in the same room with him, at the very least. Albus was a ball of excitement and energy, as he usually was, which amused Scorpius and helped him express his own excitement as well. Albus’ mother was particularly kind, and was usually the only one awake when Scorpius woke, early in the mornings.

“Good morning, Scorpius,” she said as Scorpius padded softly into the kitchen. “Coffee or tea? Would you like a bagel or toast? Would you rather wait for breakfast?” 

Scorpius could only stare somewhat bleakly at the woman as he tried to process her questions. “Uh, I guess I’ll have—er, what were the options again?” Albus’ mother smiled at him and listed the available options; “Oh. Right. I guess I’ll have some tea and toast, if that’s alright?” She set about putting the tea pot on the stove and put two thick slices of bread into the oven before saying, as if an afterthought, “I wouldn’t have offered if they weren’t an option!” which made Scorpius laugh somewhat. 

He took a seat at the kitchen table and propped open one of the books he had hidden around the house, should he be without Albus for any extended stretch of time and need to entertain himself. This was one of the books Mrs. Granger-Weasley had sent him, that he had finished, loved, and reread numerous times; the worn texture of the spine gave away his love for it. Albus’ mother plopped a cup of tea down in front of Scorpius, with toast and butter and jam following soon after; she took her own seat and began to tuck into food she had prepared for herself. It was a comforting morning ritual: to sit in silence, eating and reading. 

After what must have been two hours, Albus entered the kitchen, yawning loudly. His hair was an unruly mop of black straw on top of his head and his glasses were slightly crooked, all of which was incredibly endearing to Scorpius. “‘Mornin’, Mum,” he mumbled, taking a seat next to Scorpius. He put his head on Scorpius’ shoulder and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “Whaz-fer-brekfast.” 

“Well, I was going to wait until your father and sister wake up…” began his mother, an amused expression flirting across her face as she looked at her son. “What would you like?”

“ _Coffee._ ” His mother nodded, stood up, went about making his coffee. Albus pulled himself away from Scorpius’ shoulder, which Scorpius wanted to protest, but decided it was better not to, and adjusted his glasses. He ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it, but Scorpius didn’t have the heart to admit Albus had only made it worse. “How’d you sleep?” 

Scorpius shrugged; “Well enough. You?” Albus nodded and took the cup of coffee his mother was offering him; “Fine, I ‘spose. Mum, are Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron coming to visit today?” 

Albus’ mother nodded, and a flash of panic welled in Scorpius’ chest. “Wh—what? The—the Minister of Magic—Mrs. G-granger-Weasley—what?” Albus grinned at Scorpius’ sputtering, turning from his friend to his mother. 

“Think we broke him?” Albus asked, to no one really in particular, as Albus’ mother began to look slightly concerned, and it dawned on Scorpius that maybe Mrs. Granger-Weasley had told Albus’ mother about his letter. “Scorpius, she knows you’re here, it’s going to be okay. They stop by once a week. Usually they bring the kids, but they’re staying with George.” Here, Albus’ mother frowned slightly: “I think George is planning a Bastille Day event at the Diagon Alley shop, modeling it after the way Americans celebrate it...think he’s planning to throw cakes off the roof….” She shook her head, more to herself, and returned to looking concerned about Scorpius (as opposed to concerned about her older brother’s shenanigans). “She’s really rather kind, she’s a good person, and she does her best to not bring work home.” 

What could Scorpius say? With Albus looking at him so curiously, his cup of coffee held tightly in his hands and an expression of amusement and some concern etched onto his face, he couldn’t admit that he had written Mrs. Granger-Weasley more than a year ago. He blushed and looked down at his empty plate. “I’ve just never met a Ministry official, is all.” 

Albus thumped his friend on the back and babbled somewhat about how boring the Ministry actually was, how he had gone many times to visit his father and aunt and uncles, how it really was nothing special. As Albus gabbed, Lily came into the kitchen, still in her pajamas as well, and took a seat next to Albus. She mouthed “Morning, Scorp” over Albus’ chattering (he had not seemed to notice that no one was really listening; that Scorpius was more nodding in bewilderment than agreement), and Albus’ father was not far behind. 

As Albus’ father took a seat next to Mrs. Potter, he smiled crookedly at Scorpius and Albus, in a way that surprised Scorpius—it was a perfect mirror of Albus’ own smile, which, Scorpius supposed, was really the other way around—that as much as Albus would hate it if Scorpius told him this, but he really did look like his father. Mr. Potter waved to Scorpius and Scorpius waved back. “Blimey, Albus,” his father said loudly, causing Albus to stop mid sentence and turn his head to look at his father so quickly Scorpius was sure he must have strained his neck, “Maybe give Scorpius a chance to respond?” 

Mr. and Mrs. Potter set about making the children breakfast, and as Albus and Lily bickered about exam results and whether their Aunt Hermione would be proud or disappointed, Scorpius couldn’t help but watch Albus’ parents. At one point, as Mr. Potter enchanted a wooden spoon to stir waffle mix, he leant over and kissed his wife on the nose while reaching for flour; this made Scorpius’ heart melt. They did small but loving things, but also teased one another (Mrs. Potter swatted Mr. Potter a number of times with a dripping whisk, which caused Mr. Potter to shout, but neither of their children seemed to particularly notice). “Hello? Scorpius? Oi, Scorp!” 

“What?” Scorpius looked over to see both Albus and Lily looking at him expectantly. “Wait, what was the question?”

Albus rolled his eyes playfully. “We were asking, d’you wanna go see a movie later? Lily’s never seen a muggle movie.” 

Scorpius nodded eagerly and, at the look of confusion on Lily’s face, launched into an explanation about how muggle movies were different, and what made them so special. While Scorpius babbled, Albus’ eyes lit brightly as he watched his best friend share a part of his life with his sister.

  


Mr. and Mrs. Granger-Weasley had been at the Potter home for a number of hours when Mrs. Granger-Weasley turned to Scorpius, and in a polite, interested tone, asked: “Scorpius, may I have a word with you?”

Scorpius glanced from Albus, to Mrs. Granger-Weasley, back to Albus, before nodding briefly. Mrs. Granger-Weasley smiled, stood up, and began to lead the way to an empty room. Scorpius followed, with a sickening, sinking feeling in his stomach: what was about to happen? What had he done? Was he in trouble? He assumed he had to be in trouble, but he couldn’t remember anything he could have possibly done to warrant being in trouble. Could it possibly be related to the beginning of his Fourth year? By the time Mrs. Granger-Weasley gently closed the door behind her and found a seat in an armchair, Scorpius felt queasy with worry.

“I wanted to chat with you about your inquiry last summer.” 

Oh. “Er. Okay.” 

Mrs. Granger-Weasley leaned forward the slightest bit as Scorpius took a seat across from her; her hair was thick and curly, forming loose locs that framed her face. “If you are serious about pursuing such a career, there is a place for you in the MInistry after you graduate, if you would be so inclined to take such a position.” She paused, let the effects of her words sink in; “I am very impressed with your O.W.L. marks, and believe you will do just as well on your N.E.W.T.s.” Scorpius blushed the slightest bit at the compliment, but tried to otherwise stimmy any other emotional response—to react felt somehow improper. “The Ministry needs more bright young people who aren’t dismissive of muggles, if you ask me.” She smiled. “So, tell me—what are your ideas?”

It took Scorpius a couple of tries to get the sentence right—”Well, er, I guess I, uh,” “It’s simple, really,” “Are you sure you want to hear what I have to say?”—but Mrs. Granger-Weasley was patient and waited with only the slightest smile as Scorpius worked to get the sentence right. She nodded and listened attentively while Scorpius talked about his studies, about his interests, and the more he talked, the braver he felt, the more sure of himself he grew. Was this all as interesting as Mrs. Granger-Weasley was suggesting? Could he make a living off studying these things? It all seemed so fantastical.

After what felt like many hours had passed, but Scorpius was sure was only about 30 minutes, Ms. Granger-Weasley leant back in her chair, nodding. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Now, I have another question.”

“Alright,” Scorpius said, feeling somewhat flabbergasted. 

“What are your intentions with our Albus?”

Scorpius spluttered. “What!? I don’t—I don’t have any _intentions_ —” he said the word “intentions” with enough contempt and disdain that Mrs. Granger-Weasley looked momentarily taken aback, before regaining her composure. “Albus is my friend and I care for him, that’s—that’s _it_ , I don’t know—” Mrs. Granger-Weasley put a hand up to silence Scorpius, who quickly grew quiet. Now, he could not control it: his cheeks burned hot red with embarrassment as he looked down at his lap and his fingers, trying to wish himself into another body, another lifetime, another dimension. Anywhere but where he was right now, facing opposite the Minister of Magic, who had just, essentially, asked Scorpius if he planned to bone her nephew. 

“I only asked on behalf of Harry, who….” Mrs. Granger-Weasley paused, looked half amused and half contemptuous, before beginning again, “....who is a protective, doting father, in his own right. But! I think you’re a wonderful friend to Albus.” She smiled. “And Albus, clearly, thinks you’re a wonderful friend, too. That’s enough for us.” She stood up, here, and put her hand out, for Scorpius to shake; Scorpius stood up as well, feeling woozy on his feet, and shook her hand, looking up into her face. Her eyes sparkled.

Later in the day, while Albus was reading a book on the care of magical creatures (and occasionally shouting an interesting fact he had learned), Albus sat down to Mrs. Granger-Weasley. Before his brain could catch up and stop him, he blurted: “How did you _know_?”

Mrs. Granger-Weasley peered at him over a cup of tea. They were momentarily alone, as Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley were out in the yard de-gnoming, and Mrs. Potter was at Quidditch practice. Scorpius wondered if she would know what he was asking, what he meant; one look at her face demonstrably proved yes. “You turned back time for him, Scorpius,” Mrs. Granger-Weasley said simply. “People don't do that, unless they are in love.” 

  


Scorpius found himself drifting in and out of consciousness, lying on the mattress haphazardly strewn across Albus’ floor. He was bone tired; he, Lily, and Albus had spent the day exploring the Muggle town a mile outside the small magical neighborhood the Potters had called their home. They had gone to a movie and to get lunch and must have walked five, ten miles in total. This was all fine with Scorpius, and he had greatly enjoyed the movie they had seen, but he had been so thankful to sink into his temporary bed at the end of the day. It was, perhaps, the fault of how exhausted he had been, that he couldn’t actually get to sleep—like he wanted sleep so badly, it was purposely evading him. Every time he would slip into sleep, he would jerk awake, to the point he had sworn he would not open his eyes until the morning.

The bed lay parallel to Albus’ bed, just barely a foot lower. Albus had hung off the side of his own bed and chatted at Scorpius well past when Scorpius would have preferred to fall asleep. (Maybe this, too, was a culprit of why he couldn’t sleep—because he had resisted sleep, it was now holding a grudge against him. Or something.) Albus was excited to begin their Sixth year, to study Potions and Care of Magical Creatures more closely, and wanted to know: what would Scorpius study? Would he stay in Care of Magical Creatures? Obviously, he’d stay in Potions—would he take Defense Against the Dark Arts? Would he take this? Would he take that? Scorpius had answered all of Albus’ questions, growing wearier as the night went on, until Albus finally picked up on his friends’ exhaustion and suggested that it was bed time.

Quietly, while Scorpius found himself struggling to fall back asleep, he heard Albus whisper: “I love you, you stupid dork.” 

Scorpius felt his mouth grow dry and he involuntarily held his breath; he listened to his friend roll over and then, shortly after, heard the rhythm of Albus’ breathing fall to that of a sleeping person’s. He cracked open an eye, struggled to sit up as quietly as he could, and looked at his best friend, mouth agape. 

  


Scorpius was in pain.

He and Albus had been studying for an upcoming History of Magic exam. Albus had spent most of the term using History of Magic classes as a nap time, and so Scorpius had taken it upon himself to begin teaching the material to Albus outside of class. During one of these impromptu lessons over the dinner table, Albus had finished his meal and now stared curiously at his best friend. While Scorpius was mid-sentence, Albus stood up, bent across the table, and kissed Scorpius on the top of his head. As if realizing what he had just done, Albus then muttered, “I need to talk to Lily,” before nearly sprinting across the Great Hall. 

To save Albus’ the embarrassment—and, if Scorpius was being honest with himself (a rare occurrence), to preserve the moment and to ensure it would happen again—Scorpius reciprocated later in the day with a kiss to Albus’ cheek, writing it off as a “French thing or something,” an explanation Albus accepted gratefully. 

And so, Scorpius found moments of affection between he and Albus grew by the day. What had started off with simple kisses quickly transformed into hand holding, falling asleep on one another regularly, and more. What had once been more private became something they did in front of others, seemingly without embarrassment. 

It was most painful when Albus came to watch Scorpius practice Quidditch: Albus would hug Scorpius just a moment too long, would beam at Scorpius just a bit too brightly, would kiss Scorpius’ cheek just a bit too close to his lips. It was, by all accounts, complete and utter agony. 

One morning, however, Albus struggled to look his friend in the eye. He was unusually quiet and not nearly as affectionate as Scorpius had grown accustomed to over the months, which caused Scorpius to pause and feel some concern. Scorpius leaned across the table and poked Albus in the arm; “You alright, mate?” 

Albus jumped slightly, catching Scorpius’ eye as Scorpius brought his hand back and let it hover over his fork. “What? Yeah, just distracted,” Albus said, refusing to catch Scorpius’ eye again. 

Scorpius smiled lightly and said, in what he hoped was an offhand, casual tone of voice, “Alright, but if you don’t eat your breakfast, _I’m_ going to eat it.” He mimed piercing food with his fork. 

This went on for weeks, with Albus sporadically turning inward and then overcompensating with affection. Scorpius, for what it was worth, grinned and bore it, like a truly supportive best friend. He had hopes for what was causing Albus such inner turmoil, but knew better than to hope against hope. It was best to let Albus come forth organically. 

Finally, one lunch period, Albus looked ready to fall apart from the stress. Scorpius had noticed, but chose not to comment, instead focusing on the young adult book that was required reading for his Muggle Studies class. He tried to engage Albus in a conversation about it, but Albus was far too wrapped up in his own mind to realize. “Scorp? I need to talk to you.

Scorpius put down his book. “Sure, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” 

All in one word, said so rushed that Albus appeared as if he had been holding his breath, he said: “I’mprettysureI’mgay.” 

It was hard not to feel a twinge of disappointment, for just a moment—Scorpius had, after all, been hoping for a confession of undying love, of lust, of a passionate desire to sweep all the dishes off the table and snog right there in the Great Hall—but rather than admit these things, he simply said, “Oh. Me too.” 

Albus was incredulous, which was amusing to Scorpius in a dark sort of way. Albus asked follow up questions about Scorpius’ identity, to which Scorpius answered with ease. It was surprising to him, really, that Albus hadn’t realized that his best friend was gay sooner—especially considering the relationship he had had with Lachlan the previous year. Had he really hidden the relationship that well? It certainly didn’t seem so at the time, but Albus’ shock seemed to indicate, yes.

The more they talked, the more dazed Albus seemed. When he thought Scorpius wasn’t looking, well, Scorpius would have sworn—Albus looked _hopeful._

  


Christmas came and went, and cold winter months turned into tentative spring. Students lounged on the lawn, some with books in their laps but most simply enjoying one another’s company. One such day Scorpius was taken aback by the sheer history he was experiencing and witnessing—the realization that he was just one of many, many Hogwarts students to enjoy the beauty of the grounds on a hopeful spring day. It was enough to take his breath away. That, and his friend, who was reclining with his head in Scorpius’ lap.

“D’you think Slytherin will beat Gryffindor this weekend?” Albus asked, squinting up at his friend. Scorpius shrugged; he didn’t like to try to predict the outcome of games, especially now that he was playing. “I’unno, all I know is Slytherin booked the Quidditch pitch way more than Gryffindor did.” 

“Cocky assholes,” Albus muttered, which earned a great big laugh from Scorpius. He swatted his friend. 

“Mate, your entire _family_ are Gryffindors. You are descended from those cocky assholes.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t acknowledge they’re all cocky assholes,” Albus said simply, before lapsing back into a momentary (and uncharacteristic) silence. Scorpius absent mindedly played with Albus’ hair, feeling an electric shock wherever his fingers touched Albus’ skin. He let himself get lost in his thoughts, if only for a moment—contemplating all he had to study, the rough outline of his N.E.W.T.-level studies, which not only was Professor Slughorn demanding from him, but Mrs. Granger-Weasley was, too…. He felt a familiar sense of panic and urgency light in his stomach, but quickly extinguished it; he wanted to enjoy this peaceful, quiet moment with Albus.

Scorpius paused in twirling Albus’ hair, enjoying the way his hair wrapped around his finger—not quite forming a loc, but staying in a sort of facsimile of a curl—and asked, “What are your plans for the summer?” 

Albus groaned theatrically. “Well, because I skipped my usual couple-of-weeks working with Uncle Ron and Uncle George at the joke shop. Plus I think Mum wants me to visit Uncle Percy at the Ministry, so I can get an idea of what Ministry life is like.” He rolled his eyes. “She has this idea that I’ll join the Ministry, just like Dad and Aunt Hermione. I’d sooner work at Gringotts than the Ministry!” 

Scorpius laughed. “The Ministry isn’t so bad,” he tried to defend, but Albus held up a hand so as to quiet Scorpius, which just wound up looking like he was raising his hand to answer a question in class.

“Yes, it is. Maybe for you, it won’t be too bad—I can see you working in the Ministry, and I don’t mean that to be mean!—but I’d rather work with Potions.” Albus frowned. “Or magical creatures.” Scorpius brought up the obvious—that he could do both at the Ministry—but Albus declined the idea. “Nah, I think I wanna teach.” 

“At _Hogwarts_?” Scorpius said skeptically.

“No! Merlin’s beard, no. I can’t wait to get out of here.” Albus looked at his friend earnestly. “No, I think it’d be fun to start a sort of—tutoring group for magical kids, or something. What do muggles call it?”

Scorpius thought for a moment; “Er, primary school?” Albus nodded enthusiastically, despite his odd position. “Yeah, that! That sounds neat.” 

The two continued chatting about the future and what it held well past when they had promised they would return to the castle to gather their books to study. By the time night fell, they had barely realized they nearly skipped dinner, and so they dashed to the castle to catch the tail end of the meal, before returning to the Slytherin dungeon for the night.

  


The world was spinning, and Scorpius found himself swimming through a thick, dense fog in his mind. A couple of Fifth years had been saying derogatory things about muggles, which always exasperated Scorpius, but did so especially as Scorpius wrote to Mrs. Granger-Weasley about his potential employment, should he graduate Hogwarts with the appropriate N.E.W.T. marks. Although he had already been drinking, each time a student said something about how this or that was “muggle-ish,” he took a swig of the firewhiskey—more as a game with himself than anything else.

Meanwhile, his peers were all playing Truth or Dare, which was amusing to watch. It was a mixture of silly and serious, magical and nonmagical. Students dared other students to stick their hand in a fire, to eat bugs, to admit who they had crushes on, who’d they snogged; it was all very standard, Scorpius thought to himself. Eventually it was Albus’ turn, and with reddened cheeks, Albus asked for Truth. “re in love with anyone?” slurred a student, causing Albus to blush deeper as he answered “Sure.” Eventually, attention was placed on Scorpius, as it was his turn to pick. 

“Dare, of course,” he said, voice louder than normal as he tried to fight the urge to slur his words. Immediately, the Fifth year girl pounced. “Dare ya to kiss Albus.” 

And, finally, Scorpius admitted to himself: he was tired.

He was tired of pretending, of coddling Albus, of touching and kissing and feeling without any of the good. “Aright,” he said, and turned towards Albus, who looked completely and utterly petrified.

  


The pair sat in Headmistress McGonagall's office, trying not to look too pleased with themselves while she railed against them. “In all my years as an educator, I never—” She continued. Scorpius zoned out, staring at Albus, letting the murky feeling of drunkenness act as an excuse for his poor behavior. Somewhere, dimly, he was aware that Albus had just asked whether they could share their detention, had heard McGonagall’s stern and pained “No” in response. He thought, _Later, that will be funny_ , but at the moment, all he could think was how desperately he wanted to kiss Albus again.

Slughorn— _Professor_ Slughorn, Scorpius corrected himself in his mind—escorted the boys back to the Slytherin dungeon, occasionally holding Scorpius’ elbow, when he would stumble. Albus alternated between looking concerned and amused at Scorpius, which was enough to make Scorpius want to grab Albus right then and there and kiss him all over again. He had to admit, though, that Professor Slughorn’s presence would have been quite the buzzkill. 

They stood outside the entrance to the Common Room when Professor Slughorn turned to them, a grin on his face: “Now, now, boys...be good.” And with that, he sauntered down the hall and away to his own private room.

Albus looked at Scorpius and smiled crookedly. “Shall we go in?” he tried to ask, but Scorpius had already reached forward, grabbed his face, and kissed him. Albus gave in, holding Scorpius’ shoulders tightly, pressing his weight against Scorpius, when he pulled away—”No, _no_ , let’s...let’s go to the dorm….” With that, he grabbed Scorpius’ hand and steadfastly ignored the hooting and hollering from the drunk Slytherins gathered around the fire as they took each step two at a time to the dorms. 

With a not-so-gentle shove, Albus pushed Scorpius onto his bed, causing Scorpius to yelp and tumble backwards as his legs hit the side of the mattress. He glanced around, took stock of the room, and let himself be thankful that the entire room was clearly in the common room, enjoying the free alcohol. (It had not occurred to him that if they were all gathered around the fire, then they had clearly just seen the pair stumble away to the dorm.) Albus climbed onto the bed and quickly pulled the curtains, mumbling a silencing charm, before closing the distance between their lips. 

  


All things considered, the Sixth year final exams were easy. Scorpius breezed through them and did especially well on his History of Magic exam, considering it was about the Second Wizarding War. For the essay portion of the exam he spent careful attention to the role of werewolves in the War, how they had redeemed themselves by fighting against Voldemort, and how Mrs. Granger-Weasley had brought in sweeping reform when she entered office, in the name of equality for all magical races. He had considered writing about Mrs. Granger-Weasley herself, but decided he did not want to embarrass himself that deeply.

After the exam, he found Albus and pecked him on the lips; “How’d you do?” he asked as they fell into stride, their bags slung across their shoulders. Albus shrugged. “I have a hard time deciding how I did on any exam. When I think I did well, I do poorly; and vice versa.” 

Scorpius nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I have that same problem, too.” They discussed various questions on the exam, occasionally making fun of certain perspectives—”Look, Uncle Ron would _definitely_ disagree with that—” before Albus glanced at Scorpius, smirked, and asked in an incredibly casual tone, “Wanna go make out?” 

Scorpius laughed.

  


It was the last night before each student was expected to return to their various homes away from Hogwarts. Scorpius and Albus had secured plans to visit one another—this time, they would split the summer between Malfoy Manor and the Potter home, spending equal time at each house, but leaving enough time for Albus to visit family and Scorpius to...read with his father. But there was still something bittersweet hanging in the air between them. It wasn’t that they were about to leave Hogwarts for another year; it had more to do with the idea that the relative safety of their relationship was coming to a close, as they were sure they could not keep it a secret in the midst of their families. They were far too affectionate.

This is how Scorpius found himself back in Albus’ bed, as he had most nights since they had first kissed. They would kiss, and kiss and kiss, until the early hours of the morning, when one would inevitably fall asleep and the other would follow soon after; and they would struggle to wake up before it was awkward, before there was a chance that one of the other boys in the dorm would pull back the curtains to wake Albus up, only to find Scorpius curled up beside him. There had certainly been some close calls, but considering the fact that the other boys in the dorm dreaded finding the pair together just as much as the pair dreaded the same, it had yet to happen. 

Scorpius pressed kisses into Albus’ neck, feeling a thrill when Albus clawed at the back of his neck and rolled his hips to meet Scorpius’. He knew better than to bite, to kiss too roughly, but he still pushed the edge, got close to the line, and each time he did so, Albus responded in a way that made it impossible _not_ to do it again. 

They had been at it for some time, the silencing charm obscuring the passage of time somewhat effortlessly. They had advanced to snogging with their shirts off, and Scorpius loved the way it felt to press their skin together, to feel the heat of Albus’ chest, to feel his heartbeat faintly against his own. So when Albus, in a whisper, moaned “ _Please_...,” it was all Scorpius could do not to fall apart at the seams. Scorpius moved up Albus’ body, placing kisses on his jaw, the edge of his lips, before finally kissing Albus openly. He bit at Albus’ bottom lip and moved a hand across Albus’ chest, down to the edge of Albus’ pajama bottoms. Here he rested, thinking, fleetingly, of Lachlan, of what Lachlan had liked; teasing. Here, Scorpius took this lesson and ran with it. He thumbed the material of Albus’ pajamas, letting his fingers ghost Albus’ hips as he slid his finger across the waistband. 

It didn’t take long before Albus was whimpering, holding Scorpius’ head as he kissed deeply, occasionally begging incoherently; “ _Please_.” Scorpius moved lower. 

Albus let out a great sigh when Scorpius finally touched him, let his fingers trail the hard length. Albus bucked his hips again and Scorpius couldn’t help but laugh into Albus’ mouth.

“You’re _enjoying_ this!” Albus said indignantly, breathily, as Scorpius ran an open palm down his length. Scorpius marveled at how smooth Albus was, how warm, as he pulled back the slightest bit to look Albus straight in the eye. “You bet I am.” With that, he closed a fist around Albus, just barely able to wrap his hand around, and jerked upwards. 

After a few moments, Albus had been rendered incapable of doing much else beyond desperate pants and groans; he was not even able to adequately kiss Scorpius back, which Scorpius took as a sort of badge of honor. His hand had grown slick as it moved back and forth, and Albus had shimmied out of his pajamas so that he was lying exposed on top of his blanket. 

Scorpius let go of Albus, to momentary protests, before he began to kiss down Albus’ stomach. Albus swore heavily—”Merl— _fuck_ —are you—you don’t _have_ to— _Christ._ ” Scorpius would have grinned if he had been able to, but instead he ran his tongue up the underside and enjoyed the taste. 

It didn’t take long for Albus to grab Scorpius’ head, half-groan and half-mumble, “I’m coming,” before Scorpius took Albus as deeply as he could. Albus continued to swear, bucked his hips, and flooded Scorpius’ mouth. Despite having been prepared for it, Scorpius was still surprised by the sheer _volume._ He fought the urge to gag as Albus tried in vain not to continue lifting his hips and instead clutched the sheets of his bed tightly, still swearing. When all was said and done, Scorpius moved away and returned to lying beside Albus. 

Albus kissed Scorpius, not seeming to care about the taste or smell; he pressed himself against Scorpius, pinning Scorpius to the bed as he kissed him, licking his lips and moving to straddle the blond haired boy. “Blimey,” he breathed into Scorpius’ open mouth, to which Scorpius had to agree wholeheartedly. 

  


“We have to tell our families,” Albus said unexpectedly, after he pulled away from Scorpius. “They deserve to know.”

Scorpius grimaced. “Mate,” he said, patiently. “Your family already knows.”

“What? How’d’you reckon that?” Albus frowned. 

“Mrs. Gra—your Aunt Hermione told me.” Albus sat upright, practically pushing himself away from Scorpius as he yelled, “What!?” Scorpius shrugged slightly; “Yeah? She cornered me last summer, asked me what ‘my intentions’”—he was careful to put this in air quotes—”with you were.” 

“What did you tell her? That your intentions were to snog me, bed me, steal my money?” 

Scorpius pushed Albus. “No. I told her I was your friend. But—she knows, mate. And if she knows, your Mum does too.”

Albus looked as if he were in incredible pain. He continued to discuss the logistics of admitting the relationship not just to his extended family, but to Scorpius’ father as well. (“He’s going to be okay with it,” Scorpius had said; “ _Don’t tell me he knew, too,_ ” Albus groaned, to which Scorpius could only look sheepish.) Eventually, Albus grew tired of discussing the matter, and instead had returned to kissing Scorpius, who could not complain. 

The door to the compartment suddenly slammed open, and in the doorway stood Lily. “Gross, gross, gross, gross!” she yelled, to which an amused Albus snapped back, “Y’know, the curtains were drawn for a _reason_ , Lily.” 

The two continued to banter before Lily said in a somewhat hysterical voice, “Wait until I tell Mum!” As the door closed, Albus was careful to shout just loud enough so he was sure Lily would hear: “Well, they’ve got to find out sometime!” He smirked at Scorpius, his smile crooked and his eyes gleaming, and Scorpius could only find it within himself to mirror Albus’ expression: to smile back, earnestly and wholly. 

Albus kissed Scorpius on the nose.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to tell me what you think! 
> 
> I don't think I am done with this storyline, not quite yet. I wanted to write more of this fic but was tired and was too excited to share it. I have two long bus rides coming up this weekend, so maybe I'll write more of this!


End file.
